


Open 'til Midnight

by rockthecliche



Series: Resident: Eyesores [1]
Category: Johnny's Entertainment, Kanjani8 (Band), NewS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockthecliche/pseuds/rockthecliche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a competitive world, the fashion industry. Perhaps this is competition in a far more entertaining sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open 'til Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Written for some anon over at the recent JE kink meme. 8D

Technically, they're not meant to be doing business with each other, but there was no protocol on _doing_ each other, right?

Massu thinks he should probably feel a little guilty; after all, he's been getting to know the guy who owns the boutique across the cramped Shibuya alleyway for weeks now, and he hasn't tried to keep it a secret, either. But since the first day Massu started his sales job across the way, all he could feel from the other storefront was an aura of rivalry. Yasu, the man who seems to own or manage the other shop, never actually comes off as the type to have a wild competitive streak -- in fact, he is nothing but happy, amiable, and cheerful, things Massu appreciates in people on a day to day basis. But with each passing day, the need to out-color and out-bright each other in fashion bubbles up through the cracks of both their sunny dispositions, which ultimately ends when Yasu all but throws Massu into the dressing room and orders him to take his pants off, and Massu has never been good at resisting authority. It, erm, snowballed from there.

Eventually, it becomes a game -- they plan clothing themes for each week and the first person who breaks the theme has to owe the other a favor. Sometimes they're innocent -- dinner at Namjatown paid by Yasu when he failed to wear the right shade of pink on that Thursday, or getting Massu's phone number (finally!) their second week in. Other times are a little embarrassing, like when Massu had to work his entire shift dressed as his sentai alter ego, or when Yasu was forced to create a CM jingle for Massu's store and subsequently sing it at the entrance, guitar and all. And there are other _other_ times, like when Yasu won but was begging Massu for it after store hours, legs spread wide and inviting, sprawled out naked on the bench placed in front of the row of dressing rooms. Or when Massu won but wanted nothing more than to suck Yasu past his lips, working his tongue up and over the hard flesh, ego boosting at Yasu's compliments on how sinful his plump lips look stretched around his cock, followed by desperate moans.

And there are other times when Massu loses on purpose, hoping that Yasu's in one of his commanding moods. Yasu doesn't disappoint, eagerly pushing Massu into one of the dressing rooms once the store's closed and locked up for the night. Massu doesn't know why they even bother with the facade of privacy, but where there are dressing rooms, there are mirrors, and it's almost embarrassing how quick his cock hardens at the thought, although he's sure Yasu's fingers palming him through his jeans aren't helping (or helping too much).

There's a few seconds of flurried movements, shirts being removed and tossed every which way and when they're both sufficiently undressed, Massu takes a moment to pause and openly ogle Yasu, his fingers following the path of his eyes. He strokes up firm, toned arms, over broad shoulders, down a smooth, rippled chest and torso, like some ancient Greek god come to play. The sight of him makes Massu sick with desire and he thinks he might have the same effect on Yasu if the desperate kiss they share is any hint at all. Maybe this is why he's so fucking _attracted_ to Yasu to begin with -- under all the fashion and couture, there is a man, one with muscle and strength in all the right places, one whose passion doesn't dictate who he should be. He drags his palms over Yasu's back and down, stopping at the hem of his underwear.

"Stop staring," Yasu mumbles against his lips.

Massu doesn't waste any time in pushing Yasu's boxers past his hips and down to the floor. He takes Yasu in hand, stroking up lightly, then harder on the downstroke. Yasu's teeth sinks into Massu's bottom lip and there's a moan, but he's not sure who it's coming from; he makes his hand repeat the action -- no bite this time, but fingers tugging at his hair. He bristles, gently removes Yasu's fingers from his hair, and sinks to his knees.

Blowing Yasu is almost like second-nature now because it's one of the things Massu knows he's good at and Yasu seems to enjoy it as much as he likes to give it. Plus, it's easier to keep Yasu's hands busy and away from his hair, and when he presses his lips against the crown of Yasu's cock and _sucks_ , Yasu's hands instantly fly to grasp at Massu's shoulders instead. Massu chuckles. Yasu digs his fingers into Massu's shoulders, urging him on. He smirks a little, lapping at the sensitive head, hand working over the base before he finally relents and takes Yasu in his mouth. He hears Yasu heave a sigh of relief as he starts to suck in earnest, running his tongue up the underside, bobbing his head and working his lips down the shaft as far as he can, fingers stroking where his lips can't reach. There's a burst of bitter liquid on his tongue and Massu moans around his mouthful, pleased with himself.

He looks up at Yasu at one point, trying to catch his gaze, but he's not really expecting the full-blown lust glazing over his eyes. Massu lets Yasu slip from his mouth and he barely has time to wipe the spit from his lips when Yasu's hauling him up and crushing their mouths together. Massu moans when Yasu's skilled fingers finds his cock, stroking him to full hardness, and when they finally break apart, Yasu keeps stroking him in slow, sure strokes, letting the pleasure swirl up his neck and flush his cheeks, then pooling in the pit of his stomach. Massu draws in a sharp breath, resting his forehead against Yasu's shoulder, trying to steady himself.

"You really do have lovely lips," Yasu murmurs into his ear, and Massu actually blushes.

"Thank you," Massu replies, lifting his head and peering back at Yasu, who smiles at him, enjoying the blush on Massu's cheeks. Then he unceremoniously turns Massu around and pushes him up against the mirror, palms out to brace himself.

Massu shuts his eyes -- he doesn't have to look to know that Yasu's uncapping the lube that he must have stashed in there, somewhere, maybe in the pile of clothing all over the floor. He hears it instead, the cap coming off, then the thud of the tube hitting the bench. He shifts his legs so they're wider apart, giving Yasu easier access as a cool, slick finger begins to work inside of him. Massu groans, tensing up at the initial intrusion; there's a gentle hand stroking down his back, soothing and coaxing him to relax, and soon he sags a little, breathing in deep, just wanting and waiting for more. His hips pushes back against the finger in need; when Yasu chuckles, the sound is right next to his ear.

"Eager," Yasu says, and the puffs of breath ghost over his skin and sends rapidfire desire straight down his spine. He balls his hands up into fists, pushing back, trying to get _more_ , but Yasu's in control. And isn't that exactly what he had wanted? Massu opens his eyes and catches Yasu's gaze in the mirror, and he reads the look on his face easily -- it says that Massu _will_ be getting what he wants. He just needs to be a little more patient. Okay. He can do that.

His patience starts running out when a few minutes pass and Yasu is slowly, carefully moving three fingers in and out of him, easing into the tight ring of muscle first, then gradually pressing and stretching him. Massu's legs threaten to buckle underneath him the first time those wicked fingers find and press against that spot right _there_ ; a barely contained groan escapes his lips and Yasu takes this as his cue to attack that spot inside him with every push of his fingers in, pulling them out slowly in torture. When it's fairly obvious that Yasu's not going to be giving in anytime soon, Massu frees one hand from its hold on the mirror and tries to wrap it around his cock just for _something, anything_ , but Yasu's quick to catch his wrist, prying his hand away.

"You can touch yourself when I say you can," Yasu says with a sharp nip to his shoulder for emphasis. Massu merely keens his disapproval, but then Yasu's fingers are working inside him again and he can't find it in him to keep up a fight. Yasu does take pity on him, though, and pulls his fingers free. Massu can barely get another whine of disapproval out from his throat before Yasu's pushing into him, and his vision goes a little hazy.

Strong hands grip him by his hips, steadying him, controlling him, making sure Massu doesn't get a chance to move without Yasu letting him, but the slide in is excruciatingly slow. He must have mustered a brave, "hurry up," at some point, because in the next moment, Yasu pushes in the rest of the way, pulling Massu's hips to meet him halfway. And that, the moment Yasu slides home, has Massu reeling, eyes snapping open, locked on Yasu's in the mirror as he lets out a groan of relief.

Yasu's eyes are dancing, glittering in the flourescent light, but glossed over with something far more primal. "Would you like me to fuck you now?"

Massu swallows, willing his voice to work and be steady and not show just how much he'd like that at this precise moment in time. "It _would_ be nice."

There's a laugh but as soon as it begins, it ends. Yasu's grip on his hips tighten and he's being slammed into, face almost hitting the mirror due to sheer impact. He cries out as Yasu begins to fuck him relentlessly, continuously, no falter in his thrusts, his own hips moving back to meet Yasu's over and over and _over_ again. In a distant corner of Massu's mind, he thinks there is nothing better than getting exactly what he wants even if the rules imply that shouldn't be the case at all. He moans helplessly as a rather hard thrust jars his thought process and after that, all he can think about is how good Yasu's cock feels inside of him, filling him repeatedly, stretching him wide open.

At some point, they switch positions because Massu's legs are really about to crumble underneath them. The dressing room door falls open as Yasu pushes it aside, allowing Massu to lay down, hands and arms spilling out into the otherwise vacant store. His legs fall to the either side naturally, arms going up and hands gripping Yasu's shoulders as he moves into his view, hovering over him. There's an impulse to lean up and kiss him, so Massu does, and when Yasu slips back inside him, his moan is swallowed up by the other's lips. He's a little sad at the loss of the mirrors, but that feeling is quickly replaced when Yasu starts fucking him in earnest, making his breath catch in his throat.

The pleasure eventually begins to boil over and he starts to babble -- just a few phrases like _"god yes harder,"_ and _"touch me, please just touch me,"_ , phrases that seem to have more of an affect on Yasu than he thought. At least he got the 'harder' part right -- he's still waiting for fingers to wrap around his cock, but after weeks and weeks of sex, they know each other's habits. Massu knows it's on its way. Eventually.

He wraps his legs around Yasu's waist, pulling him in deeper. Yasu groans then grins down at him, choosing that moment to slow down, settling on an unhurried pace with long, deep thrusts. Massu lets his fingers explore whatever skin he can reach, finally settling on the smooth plane of Yasu's back. Yasu leans down and kisses him fully, slow and exploratory, and in the midst of their tongues battling for dominance, Yasu grips one of Massu's free hands with his own and wraps both sets of fingers around Massu's painfully ignored cock.

That one touch sends Massu into a frenzy. He arches his back, upper body lifting up and off the floor as Yasu expertly moves both their fingers up and down his cock, squeezing the tip and letting the fluid leaking from the tip coat their fingertips. Yasu's lips attaches themselves to the pulse point at Massu's neck and then, all it really takes from that point is a half dozen hard, deep thrusts and a few quick strokes of his cock and Massu's orgasm hits him like a freight train, ripping through his body in waves, spilling onto and over both their hands. It doesn't take Yasu that much longer, either; between how tight Massu must have been during his orgasm and how long Yasu's been toying with him all night at his own expense, he finishes after a few minutes of hurried thrusts, groaning loudly as his hips jerk against Massu's as he comes. Massu is already laying boneless on the floor with no desire to move, except he lolls his head about and makes a muffled noise when Yasu pulls out and merely drops down on top of him, both of them catching their breath.

"Damn," is all Massu says. He reaches blindly for something to wipe his hand clean, and settles with the floor. He'll help Yasu clean up later. For now, he's content just laying around for the next minute or twenty.

Yasu laughs a little breathlessly against his neck. "Yeah. That sums it up."

Massu pauses, then runs his clean hand through Yasu's hair. "Thanks for giving me what I wanted even though it was your win."

The look on Yasu's face is much too amused for Massu's liking. "Oh, that wasn't my victory favor. That was just us having sex," he says matter-of-factly. "I can consider it a victory bonus or something, though."

Massu just stares at him, mouth slightly open, and the only way he gets his mouth to close is when Yasu shakes his head and kisses him.

It turns out that what Yasu really wants most is a sizeable discount on a killer rainbow colored zebra print hoodie that Massu's store has in stock. And maybe a proper date. Either or. Or, if Massu's feeling so kind, both.

He doesn't want to seem _easy_ , so he caves on the date first.


End file.
